The Doctor leaves Clara in the TARDIS for a minute, but when he finds her, sheâs become a child. Sheâs lost and tired, and she just wants to find her way back home.
Warnings: abandonment, childhood
âClara?â The Doctor nudged the TARDIS door shut with his foot and peered around the console. âYou there?â He bounced the cupcakes lightly in his hands. They were perfect, double chocolate with pink icing, complete with white sprinkles on top. And there was a candle somewhere in his bigger-on-the-inside pockets. He hummed tunelessly to himself as he set up the treats on napkins. Now he just needed to find the birthday girl.
A bang sounded just out of sight, followed by a small âouch!â He walked around the corner, busy licking icing from his fingertips, and found a girl. She was tiny, seven, maybe, her hair folded in a French braid. She bunched the fabric of her dress in her hands as she saw the Doctor. He squatted, hoping she wouldnât run away.
âHello,â he spoke, almost whispering. âWhatâs your name? Iâm the Doctor.â
âIâm Clara,â she said back, her eyes focused on his own. âI want to go home.â She said it softly, but the Doctor knew how to read her voice. So often was his companion energetic and enthusiastic to cover up her doubt.
He took her hand and led her to a free bedroom. He wanted to pick her up, to set her down on the oversized bed and let her stay here forever, but this was Clara before their lives intersected. Clara didnât even know him.
âClara,â he looked at the girl sitting stiffly between the pillows. âClara, I can take you anywhere you need to go.â He paused. âHow old are you?â He paused again, trying to remember his companionâs birth year. âWhen were you born?â
âAre you my dad? I canât remember anything.â The Doctor swallowed hard. He looked at the little girl and wished he could say yes.
âIâm not,â he said, quietly, swallowing his tears. The girl sniffled. âNo, no, pleaseâplease donât cry.â He fiddled with his hands behind his back before putting one on her head. At that, she stopped crying. Her eyes closed as if she were remembering.
âYou did what Dad does.â She kept her eyes closed. âCan I go home?â
âPlease, tell me how old you are.â He turned to the doorway, his hands stiffening into fists. He swallowed.
âCan I go home?â She asked again. She had crept off the bed and stood by his hand, hesitant to touch him.
âPlease, Clara, tell me how old you are.â I canât help you unless I know, please, please donât take too long. But he didnât want to know, either. Knowing would mean having no excuse to keep her.
âIâm seven. Is this your house?â She let go of her dress, looking up at him with questions swirling in her eyes. The Doctor closed his. Now heâd have to give her back.
âIs this my house?â At that, he smiled. âWhere am I, The Doctor?â
âNo, Clara, just âDoctor,â you call me Doctor, please.â Remember! He shouted in his head. But there was nothing in her to remember.
âAre you OK?â The Doctor looked down at her.
âIâm losing someone,â he said, the weight of it pressing down on his hearts. Like, Rose, Jack, Donna, Amy, Rory, not you. You got me out of my rut, took me out of myself, not you!
âWe can find them. Canât we?â She took his hand. For a moment, he believed it was that simple.
âOh! Clara!â He jumped back, pulling his hand from hers. âItâs your birthday today, isnât it?â Her eyes grew wide.
âHow did you know?â
âIâm magic.â Her smile teased a response out of him, and he forgot for a moment, beaming at her. âIâll be right back.â He scampered out the door. Clara took a look at the door.
âWhy isnât there a box? My room has a box on the door.â The TARDIS hummed and gave her a small nameplate on the door. Clara bent down to pick up a crayon from the floor, her dress bunching around her legs, and scrawled her name in the space.
âHere, Clara.â The Doctor had come back. He sat her down and revealed a cupcake on a pale blue napkin. Her mouth opened in a smile as he nudged a candle into place and lit it with a match hidden between his fingers. âMake a wish.â She closed her eyes and blew out the candle nosily.
Then she began to glow. Soft light fluttered out of the candle and enveloped her, twisting around her arms and turning her hair into a mane. Clara grew older, barely moving as the changes brought back the companion he knew. She looked at him, stretching.
âAm I safe?â
âYouâre safe. So safe.â He scooped her into his arms and hugged her. âClara, what did you wish for?â He leaned in and gave her a kiss on her head.Â
âFor you to find he person youâd lost,â she muttered before falling asleep in his arms. The TARDIS hummed again, faintly, erasing the childâs signature on the door and replacing it with a name in Claraâs adult hand. She slipped into a deeper sleep, nuzzling the crook of his elbow.
The Doctor wasn't good at waiting, but never, that night, did he let go.
The first snow of the winter falls on Clara and The Doctor, and playing in it gets a little out of hand.
Warnings: Close quarters
âStill think youâre the best snowball fighter in the universe?â She dodged a wad of powdery snow and ducked to her knees, laughing.
âA fort! We need forts!â Clara called to her Doctor.
âOnly losers need forts!â She scraped together a snowball and lobbed it at his hair. It scuffed his shoulder, leaving a cloud of fluffy white around his face. Like a halo.
âFine then! The loser builds a fort.â Clara smacked him in the nose with a well-aimed cluster of snowflakes.
âI ainât buildinâ no fort,â he shot back, tipping an imaginary hat to his dearest Clara as he brushed the snow from his face. âSorry, maâam, but it looks like youâll be makinâ me a home.â Clara ducked behind a tree, her heart hammering with the giddiness of the snowball fightâand perhaps a little something else. She gathered as much snow as she could fit between her hands and packed it together. âNo cheating!â He yelled.
âNot cheating!â She ran from the hideout, clutching her weapon between her arms. Ready, aimâshe imagined a cannon, its weaponry shooting through the sky, always hitting its mark. Fire! She lobbed the cannon ball and it hit him smack dab on the bow tie.
âOh! The lady got me!â He spiraled down, falling flat on his face dramatically, flinging up his legs behind him to create two delayed thumps. âJust you wait, Clara,â he told her, his eyes sparkling, after heâd dusted himself off. âIâm gonna build you a fort youâll never forget.â
-
âThis is a little tight, isnât it?â Clara examined the âfortâ with her hands on her hips. It would barely fit the two of them, she guessed, and there was only one small opening.
âI prefer the term âcozy,ââ he replied. He straightened his bow tie. âAfter you.â Clara tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. Could be nice, being that close to him, she thought, a cheeky smile working its way onto her face. She pushed herself into the tiny room and slid to the side. Her breath come out in small pillows against the snow wall, and she laughed, watching the atmosphere vaporize. âSee, nice and cozy.â The Doctor sighed as he shuffled in his half of the snowbank. He reached to the ceiling, well within his arm span, and drew a light.
âItâs the TARDIS light, Clara,â he said softly. She pointed a finger into the snow and drew an outline of their blue box.
âAnd thatâs what it looks like.â She spoke as if exhaling, like the air would shatter if she raised her voice louder than a whisper. He traced a stick figure by the rectangle. âThatâs me.â He added suspenders, and Clara topped it off with a bow tie.
âDraw me,â she requested, her voice muffled by the snow. He wrapped his arm awkwardly around her head, fingers burrowing into her hair. With his free hand he added a girl in a dress by his side.
âThatâs you, Clara.â
âAlmost,â she whispered, her breath catching as his fingers worked their way to the nape of her neck. She added a sloppy chefâs hat to the drawing and exhaled softly. His hand slipped from her neck to her collar. Clara turned fully on her side, facing him. She reached out to trail a finger on his cheek, around the curve of his lips, past the roundness of his chin. He pushed himself closer, his hands still working their way downwards. She inhaled, her heart hammering under his palm. She shifted, stretching out both her arms to meet his hearts, the animated rhythm of his hearts matching the pounding in hers. He took her hands carefully between his. Then he kissed her.
It wasnât enough, Clara thought, kissing back, wishing there was more room so she could push her hands through his hair, hold his face, something. Anything with more contact, more heat.
âWe should take this inside,â he gasped. He tried to stand up, forgetting where he was, and broke through the snow fort. âAh, sunlight!â He exclaimed with relish. He picked up Clara and took long strides toward the house. Clara slid her hands into his hair, damp with melting snow. She laughed.
âHm?â He asked, surprised, not before giving her a quick, deep kiss. She looked at him adoringly as he broke away.
Clara and The Doctor bake muffins for a school event. He enjoys it a little more than expected.
Warnings: Food mentionÂ
âBut donât we always make souffles?â
âThat is an absolutely unfounded accusation.â She pushed a baking pan across the counter to where he was sitting, his nose barely above the laminate surface. âBesides. The school requires muffins.â
âThis is for a school event?â He got up, an eyebrow raised. âSince when do you do school events?â
âSince I got a job, numbskull.â She swatted him lightly with a spatula. âCome on, letâs get to it! Flour,â she added, pointing at The Doctor. âGo get.â
âOf course, a job⊠You see me every Wednesday, but I see you every day,â he said, mostly to himself, as he reached for the top shelf of the cupboard. âI keep forgetting.â
âForgetting what?â
That Iâm not your whole life, he thought, but he kept his mouth shut and gave her a signature smile.
âHow to bake! Youâll need to teach me.â He plopped the flower next to her line of ingredients and beamed at her.
âWellâŠalright.â She reached to the nook below the cutting board and pulled out a cookbook. âI thought weâd use this recipe, but rememberââ She cued him. âThe muffin isnât the muffin.â
âThe muffin is the recipe,â they said together.
âWhatever that means,â The Doctor added, putting a hand on her head before she could retaliate. âIn addition to problem solving and saving peopleâs lives, of course.â His hand slipped over her hair to the nape of her neck. âRight, baking!â He clapped his hands. âWhatâs this thing for?â
âThatâs for measuring things. Here, give me three cups of flour.â He tipped the bag and watched the power flutter out. Like snow, he thought, his mind conjuring images of the first battle they fought together. Snow aware of more than just its surroundings. He shook the thoughts away and pushed the bowl to Clara.
âThis is quaint, isnât it?â She said, pleased. She looked up from her minuscule bowls of spices and powders, her hands clasped in front of her chest.
âI donât do quaint,â he replied, but both of them knew he had a secret fondness for adopting mundane roles with Clara. It was like almost like playing house.
âBut youâre doing such a good job!â She dumped the ingredients in the bowl containing the eggs and poured in the flour. âNow mix.â
âIt says âstir in,â not âdump like the TARDIS is exploding.ââ
âMix!â She repeated, laughing. âThese are gonna come out great, I swear.â
-
Clara woke up from her nap and checked her watch.
âDoctor⊠The muffins should be about done.â She started, fully awake in an instant. âDoctor?â Rule number five, Claraâdonât leave him alone with baked goods!
âMm?â He walked into the room, a half-eaten muffin in his hand. Crumbs stuck to his lip, and he brushed them away. âWhat?â
âTheyâre for school, Doctor. School! Think of the children.â He said nothing, just polished off the muffin. âHow many did you eat, anyway?â He swallowed.
âHmâŠwell. I thinkâŠâ he inched closer to her until he was on the bed. âI think weâre going to need to make some more.â His eyes glinted withâwhat was it? Eagerness?
âDoctor, youâŠâ Understanding dawned on her. âYou want to make more, donât you? You like baking!â
âCâmon, Clara, weâve got muffins to bake!â He left the room, rubbing his hands together. Clara shook her head. She never knew what to expect with her Doctor, but she knew enough to foresee another tray of muffins. You never know, Clara mused. Maybe heâll even help me clean up.
ââAck!â he cried, âThis is my favourite vest.â He wiped his cake-covered hands on her sleeve, leaving spongy residue. âHow do you like getting slimed?â
âHey!â she cried, grinning, âIf itâs a fight youâre looking for, youâre in way over your head.ââ
Clara prepares to celebrate Artieâs birthday, nervously trying her best to make it the perfect. The Doctor tries to help, but accidentally blows up the cake. Tension quickly deflates into silliness, and a food fight ensues.
_________
 âYou are not using the sonic,â Clara said.
âWhy not?â
âThis needs to be perfect,â she said, crossing her arms, âYour fancy high-tech shortcuts end up getting us worse off than we started. This is Artieâs birthday. Weâre making a boring vanilla cake, and weâre doing it the old-fashioned way.â
The Doctor looked like he was about to retort, but she put on her serious face, and he let it be.Â
_______
 Clara chattered nervously, carefully measuring ingredients into a red mixing bowl. âArtieâs had a really bad go of it this year, and I want to make sure his birthday is perfect to make up for it all. Give him hope, you know? Sugar?â
The Doctor wordlessly passed her the sugar. She poured some into a measuring cup, talking all the while.
âAnd his mumâs not around to celebrate, so Iâve got to do it instead. I just canât let him-itâs two cups, right?â
The Doctor leaned over to check the recipe book and nodded.
âI just canât let him be deprived of a proper adolescence. Itâs not fair.â She looked at the bowl. âThis should be right. Help me pour the batter.â
_______
 The Doctor had no idea how to help her, but he let her hash out her feelings as she talked; he could listen, at least. After a long bout of waiting, the cake was done. Clara, of course, had shooed him away as soon as it was time for the delicate work of icing. Heâd even kept from rolling his eyes when she said to wait half an hour for the icing to dry before starting the second later. (Second layer? How much time was she planning on putting into this thing?) At this rate, theyâd be here all day, and she had a party to plan. Surely he could lend a hand.
 He turned around. Clara was hunched over the sink, scrubbing dishes as she talked. He took the sonic out of his pocket, and blocked the cake from her view. Now was the perfect time.
 âAnd I thought weâd just make it a family party, not worry about the kids from school. Thatâs a good plan, right? Makes things simpler, and Iâm not about to-â
SPLAT!
She spun around. âDoctor!â she shouted. Bits of cake had exploded across the counter.
âWhat did you do?!â she cried.
Oh no oh no oh no, it was ruined. Sheâd failed; all her planning would go to-
Just then, the Doctor turned around, and she saw his face.
 He looked, frankly, ridiculous. His entire face was covered in bits of soggy cake. His eyes were wide open, eyelashes coated in green. He opened his mouth to apologize, and had to spit out a bit of icing.
âClara,â he said, âIâm so sorry, I was trying to help.â
Clara sat stunned for a second, then burst out laughing.
 âOh my stars,â she said, through fits of giggles, âYour face is totally white! You look like frosty the snowman with green eyelashes.â She felt the tension leave her as she laughed, and she thought she saw the Doctor relax his shoulders.
âHow much of the cake is even left?â she said, walking toward him. As she leaned over the counter to look at the remains, the Doctor wiped his icing-coated sonic on her apron.
âDoctor!â she shrieked. She grabbed a handful of cake and threw it at him playfully. The blob hit him square in the chest.
âAck!â he cried, âThis is my favourite vest.â He wiped his cake-covered hands on her sleeve, leaving spongy residue. âHow do you like getting slimed?â
âHey!â she cried, grinning, âIf itâs a fight youâre looking for, youâre in way over your head.â
 It was an all out food fight. Their hair was coated in icing, cake mashed into their clothes and faces. Once they ran out of cake, the Doctor grabbed the eggs carton, throwing eggs at her as she tried in vain to swat them away.
âAlright, you got me!â she shouted, âTruce?â
âNever!â he said, pelting her with more eggs, âOnly surrender.â
 âFine,â she said, and he stopped with the eggs. âIâll surrenderâŠwhen pigs fly!â She grabbed a jug of milk and splashed it down his front. As he scrambled for something to defend himself, she dumped flour over his head. He flung the rest of the eggs at her, wiped the mess from his eyes, and twisted the cap off a creamer carton, emptying it over her head.
 Artie chose that moment to walk into the kitchen. His eyes widened when he saw the chaos inside. Eggs dripped down the walls, flour coated the counter and floor, and the two giggling figuress were barely recognizable under layers of powder and dough.
âWhatâs going on?â he demanded.
âArtie, come with meâ said Clara, laughing, âWeâre getting you a cake from the store.â
Prompt: Baking + Sexual TensionÂ
Words (so far):Â 6k+Â
Characters:Â 11/ClaraÂ
Type:Â Oneshot series
A million emotions pumped through her veins. Shock, confusion, doubt, pride, relief, puzzlement, excitement and joy. "Oh my stars . . . I've done it. I've actually properly done it."
"Get in here now!" she screeched giddily. "Come on quickly - I've done it!"
The Doctor made a mad dash from the console room - where he'd been fiddling with some settings that really didn't need fiddling with - into the kitchen. Had Clara finally set the place on fire? There'd been a lot of near misses. So many that the Doctor had taken to not leaving her side as she 'baked'. But after several smoke free attempts he thought he could probably risk leaving her to bake alone for once. Won't be doing that again, he thought to himself, expecting to see the short brunette in a coughing fit and covered in soot.
The Doctor takes Clara on a date to the playground. Stumbles, laughter, and hand holding ensue.
Rating: K
Warnings: none
âIâm taking you out on a date, Clara.â The Doctor kept his eyes on the console, checking the oxygen levels for the seventh time. A smile rewrote his companionâs face.
âAlright,â she said slowly. âWhere?â
âWellâŠIâm letting the TARDIS decide.â He fiddled with a cream-colored knob.
âReally! Are you?â She asked quickly. âDoesnât sound likeââ
âNah, but I donât want you to blame me if you donât like it.â He tore his eyes from the controls. âAre youâŠare you ready to go?â
âYeah! If you are,â she added, her hands flinging themselves into her hair. Relax, she told herself. Itâs not your first first date. She swallowed and faced the door. He pushed a button, and the TARDIS opened, revealing a magnificent playground.
Its greenery stretched farther than Clara could see, speckled with the multi-colored t-shirts of roaming children and leashes knotted to the fence. The creaks of the equipment blended into childrenâs shouts, the sound surprisingly pleasant. Clara thought she caught a whiff of corndogs against the aftertaste of humidity.
With the TARDIS doors framing it like a painting, it was rather picturesque, Clara noted to herself. Not a bad choice at all. Â
âDo you like it?â He took a few cautious steps. âWe can always go somewhere else.â She took his hand.
âNot a chance, clever boy.â She grinned, and he couldnât help but mirror her excitement. She likes it, he barely had a chance to think as he found himself getting pulled to the heart of the park. She likes it!
âWhere to first?â He asked, and she jumped on a carousel-like object. âThe spinny thing! Excellent choice.â She clung to the bars, laughing, and jumped off after a few turns, landing neatly on her feet. The Doctor had no such luck, stumbling after he landed.
âOK, OK,â she said between gasps of laughter. âNow try to walk in a straight line.â He took the opportunity to trip, and Clara caught him by the shoulders.
âI got to you. Is that close enough?â She smiled at him and kissed his forehead.
âLetâs go to the swings next, OK?â He nodded, taking her hand just before she walked out of reach. She looked back at him, but he averted his gaze to the sky. She squeezed his hand.
âI propose a challenge,â he announced once theyâd reached an empty pair of swings. He put his hands on his hips and dug his shoes into the woodchips. âWe race.â
âRace where?â He just pointed to the sky, and a slow smile spread over Claraâs face. âYou are on, Doctor.â They stood two feet from their swings, and The Doctor counted down.
âThreeâŠtwoâŠone!â They jumped into the swings and reached for the stars the old-fashioned way.
///
âHey, Clara?â She leaned against his shoulder on the park bench.
âHey.â She reached out her hand, and he took it.
âPretty good first date, huh?â She looked into his earnest face, his open eyes.
âYeah, ya goofball,â she replied, leaning back to smack him on the shoulder. âPretty good first date.â